Modigliani

Last week to St. Luke's for a string quartet and some Beethoven (Op.59, No.1) for the main course. The string quartet being the French quartet, the Quatuor Modigliani of reference 1, a quartet which I have not heard before. At least, no record under that name in the blog archive.

An overcast day, with damp in the air, but BH opined that it would not rain, so I took a chance.

On the platform at Epsom I wondered about the size of the cladding bricks, visible left in the enlargement above, from reference 2. Did not look like a standard brick to me, UK or EC. Next time I am going through the station I might remember to take a tape and I might remember to try and get near enough a brick to take its measurements.

I was a bit annoyed not to be able to remember what used to be where the blank hoarding is now. Odd how when what might think a familiar bit of street furniture is changed, one very quickly forgets what was there before. Unless, of course, it was something that one used.

There was also a rare sighting of a coach with a flower, although I did not think to take its number and check against reference 3 (No.62814). I had rather assumed that the new franchisees would have painted them out as part of their rebranding.

Eventually caught my train and just before it pulled into Balham, I noticed an interesting piece of triangular land on which a new house or houses looked to be going up. Gmaps suggests that it had been some kind of store or workshop. I  would have thought that residents would be glad about this bit of back land development. More security for all. But you never know with these serial objectors.

And then, somewhere in the same stretch, a house with what appeared to be a dozen or so beach huts in the back garden, all looking fairly freshly painted. Perhaps during the summer they house food operations at fairs and fun days.

Onto the tube at Balham for the run to Old Street. Opposite, a large young man stuffing his face with a long filled roll. All rather off-putting. Then to the right of him was a large young lady wearing tight leopard skin motif trousers, a scarlet jacket, a big white necklace and a loud pair of white spectacles. All rather entertaining. While to the right of her was a small young lady, possibly Chinese, who was into the blank face style of makeup - blank that is apart from very red lips. The rest of her outfit was understated but very smart and probably expensive.

Pulled my first Bullingdon for the short hop to Golden Lane, where I took the last vacant slot. Just in time as a hopeful came past just as I was leaving.

Tucked into the traditional bacon sandwich at the Market Restaurant in Whitecross Street while taking in the Post Office van parked across the street. With the sort of trompe d'oeil paint job which I think should be banned as it burns up brain cycles which ought to be attending to the road ahead. Far too much of it about.

Also annoyed by the messy leavings of a chap on the next table. He had ordered three eggs on toast plus sausage and so forth. But left large lumps of egg scattered over his plate. The waitress just swept it all away without comment, she probably did not care. But to me it was a serious lapse of table etiquette and something that I would never do. One should leave one's plate tidy, even if is not empty. All depends, I suppose, on the customs of the family in which you were brought up. I associated to a psychologist friend who pointed out how easy it was, when on holiday for the first time with people you thought you knew quite well, to be seriously irritated by, for example, their previously unknown breakfast customs. By the awful way they consumed their shredded wheat. Or whatever.

A good concert, with a Schubert minuet by way of an encore. An encore with what seemed to me to have a slightly ambiguous tone, hovering between the stately music which came before and the romantic music which followed. Around the time of composition that is.

Beethoven as good as one expects, bar my being confused by the third and fourth movements being run together. I like to know where I am. No clue in the programme, no clue in my Dover edition of the score. But there was a discrete hyphen in notes provided with my Quartetto Italiano discs and when I listened to them, there was just the barest pause between the third and fourth movements. Perhaps I will pick this junction up when I next hear this quartet live.

Oddly, on the occasion noticed at reference 4, I complained about the lack of breaks in the Shostakovich before the interval, but not in the Beethoven after the interval. 

Pulled a second Bullingdon and headed down what became Clerkenwell Road towards the west end. Cycled down a portion of the road which was closed for gas works, but where there were no holes and no gas men. Down to a serious looking butcher in Theobalds Road, which I have passed before. Would probably be able to sell me a shoulder of lamb which had not had bones removed and which was not shrink wrapped. Must make some excuse to visit next time I am in the area. 

A very slow rounding of the Aldwych, where the reconfiguration seemed to mean that there were lots of traffic lights, and took one of the few remaining slots on the stand outside King's College. Snapped looking east above, complete with the usual litter of private enterprise bicycles.

The idea seemed to be that the southern side of the Aldwych was now a place for students, young people and tourists to hang out, to which end there was rather mixed collection of chairs, benches and tables. Behind the telephone in the snap above we have St. Mary le Strand, which I thought to visit, but what with holy pancakes being sold from a van just outside the door and a folk music & light show inside, I desisted and pushed onto Delaunay's Counter on the north side, for which see reference 5.

A faked up Viennese café with lots of brown wood, which was not too crowded and there was a pleasant atmosphere. I took something called a Viennese hot dog. The sausage and onion part of the dog was pretty good, but the ensemble as a whole was rather let down by the roll. Not much good in the first place and by the time I got it, not that fresh. Plus, I did not think to ask for the goo that today's chefs seem so keen on to be on the side. Followed by a Black Forest cup cake which was rather good. All washed down with a glass of a 2021 Gobelsburger Grüner Veltliner. 

Those with sharp eyes might be able to see that the unused knife and fork supplied with the hot dog was changed against a smaller version for the cake. Attention to detail!

The brown wood include a wall clock, the face of which said made in London. Maybe it was the fashion of Viennese cafés in times gone by to have London made clocks. Very chic you know. There were also some bentwood chairs of a pattern I did not recognise. But I did recall reading somewhere, sometime that Austria once used to specialise in bentwood.

Maybe the hot dog was not the best choice, but it was a good place and I dare say I will be back.

After which I pulled the third Bullingdon of the day to roll across the bridge, around the roundabout and up the ramp to the train waiting to take me back to Epsom.

And so home to find lots of messages in my mail box about the rentals of the day. All archived without being read. Just clutter really, but gmail search will get them back fast enough in the unlikely event of my needing to actually look at them.

References

Reference 1: https://en.modiglianiquartet.com/.

Reference 2: https://psmv5.blogspot.com/2023/01/skewered-again.html.

Reference 3: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2019/09/beethoven-250.html.

Reference 4: https://psmv4.blogspot.com/2018/11/emerson.html.

Reference 5: https://www.thedelaunay.com/.